


The Train Job

by lateralus112358



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-11-05 15:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11016468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralus112358/pseuds/lateralus112358
Summary: In the late 1800s, two outlaws plan a robbery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know that Shoot week was a thing, but since I had this story mostly done, I decided I would finish it up and post it today.

The blare of a train whistle sounds from the tracks, just a dozen yards away. Shaw watches from the window of their small hotel room as steam and people flood the station.

“You ready?” She asks, turning back to her companion on the other side of the room.

Root is examining herself in the mirror sitting atop the dresser, looking at the laces and frills of her dress somewhat dispassionately, reaching up to make slight adjustments to the bonnet on her head. “I don’t know why I always have to do this part,” She remarks, not turning around, but looking at Shaw through the mirror. “It would be nice to trade places sometime.”

“You look better in a dress than I do.” Shaw says shortly. 

“Modesty doesn’t suit you, Sameen,” Root turns around now. “You make all the men’s knees weak. And,” She adds with a wink, “Some of the women’s, too.”

Shaw gives a snort. “Fine. You’re better at being charming than I am, all right? Besides, this was what we agreed on. You don’t like it, you’re free to leave.” 

The two had met several years ago, when Shaw and her crew had run a stickup job on a train running out of Texas. Shaw, who’d handled the guards watching the goods, had returned to the passenger carriage to discover every one of her crew members rendered unconscious, and Root, dressed much like she is now, standing over them nonchalantly. Evidently she’d been running her own scam, and offered to cut Shaw in for half the take, with an an additional offer to make the arrangement slightly more permanent. Only a brief moment of consideration was required; Root was more capable than the rest of her crew combined, and a two-way split appealed to Shaw a great deal more than a five-way. Plus there was the obvious advantage of having a gorgeous woman on her crew, allowing for nuance to the stickups that she’d previously eschewed due to her own lack of skill when it came to dealing with people. 

The sex is a bonus.

Root smiles, moving to sit beside Shaw on the windowsill. “I know, I just like hearing you say it. And you know I’d never leave.” She leans in for a long, slow kiss, then stands, says, “I’ll see you soon, sweetie,” and, already in character, flounces out the door.

***

The train rattles and groans as it moves ponderously down the track, slowly gaining speed. Samantha looks out her window in wonder, watching the station scroll past and transform into long stretches of grass and trees. Root has been on many trains, but it’s always Samantha’s first trip, and she never fails to marvel at the wonders of technology she witnesses. Samantha is a nice girl, if a bit simple and naive, as well as somewhat coquettish, when the mood takes her. And the mood always seems to take her when she’s on a train, oddly enough.

Root shifts Samantha’s leg, moving the pistol strapped beneath the dress to a slightly more comfortable position.

Horribly unwieldy things, dresses, but they are marvelous for concealing things one wants to keep hidden. Root could probably smuggle half the train out beneath the ubiquitous skirts if she wanted to. Maybe she’ll make the suggestion to Shaw at some point. Could be fun.

The two had met several years ago, but Root had been aware of Shaw for nearly a year before that. She’d read stories in the papers, detailing the exploits of this new, unknown outlaw. They always reported the gender as male, but Root had obsessed over all the cases, and was certain that the perpetrator was a woman, and she was determined to meet her. 

She had spent nearly a month studying the outlaw’s patterns, learning about train shipping schedules, trying to predict where she would strike next. It had taken several attempts, but eventually Root managed to place herself on the right train, and found that the outlaw was indeed a woman. A beautiful, fiery, frighteningly efficient woman. Root had instantly been infatuated with her. And, as time went on, infatuation gave way to something softer, though no less powerful.

Shaw had not felt the same, definitely not at first. She had resisted Root’s advances for an unpleasantly long time, but Root had seen and felt the attraction (if not yet affection) building between them, and eventually all the nights spent together in hotels, or out in the open air, filled with euphoria after a job, had boiled over in spectacular fashion.

And, if anything, they’ve only become more efficient since. 

Root has Samantha check her watch. Time to get started.

Samantha looks up towards the front of the car, and gazes at the porter standing there. She continues until he glances at her, then she looks away in embarrassment. After a moment, she looks back, and smiles, then quickly looks away again.

After this initial contact has continued for a sufficient length of time, Samantha stands, and walks over to him.

“Good evening,” She says, with a bit of a giggle.

“And to you as well, ma’am.” Very polite. Samantha is enamoured, which she shows by a self-conscious downward tilt of her head, and a smile that keeps threatening to break through.

“This is my first time on a train,” She tells him, almost in a whisper, as if imparting a secret. “It’s very impressive. Of course, I’ve only seen this one car. I bet you can go anywhere you want though, right?”

He smiles at her, and Samantha smiles back.

Root will be gentle when she knocks him out. He seems like a nice man.

***

The day had been hot, but the sun’s departure soon invites a chill. Cold seems to rise from the ground, showing no recollection of the blistering rays earlier. Shaw pulls the brim of her hat down a little lower against the breeze.

The chosen spot is several miles from the station. Several miles from anywhere. Flat plain stretches as far as vision can reach, broken only by the railroad tracks running left to right in front of Shaw, several dozen yards ahead of her current position. The time that elapses between the train’s arrival at the station and its eventual departure is great enough that Shaw can reach the stickup point on horseback, and still have anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour sitting in silence. She revels in it. She indulges herself in these moments, times when there’s nothing around for miles but her. And Bear, of course, snuffling quietly behind her, but animals have never fatigued her like humans do.

It’s true that she’s grown increasingly tolerant of Root’s presence as time has gone on. The woman is, without exaggeration, a genius, whose capabilities have opened a lot of doors for their particular enterprise, and at times when she’s not devoting every available mental faculty to being as infuriating as possible, she is capable of being quite engaging, even funny. 

Still, human interaction, even with people she’s almost fond of, proves to be tremendously exhausting. So she parts with Root earlier than necessary, to give herself time to recharge. To sit, and exist without the oppressive weight of people pressing in on her. Root understands, and never complains about the arrangement. And by the time they meet up again, and after the exhilaration of the job, Shaw’s usually ready to rejoin the human race. Or at least whatever small corner of it that Root occupies.

Light travels faster than sound, but Shaw’s ears detect the rumbling of the train in the distance before her eyes locate the distant lights. She checks the pistols in the twin holsters at her hips, supported by her belt, stamps out her small fire, turns to Bear and swings herself up into the horse’s saddle. She urges him forward in a trajectory parallel with the train’s motion, still staying to the side. The train gains ground on her, even as she speeds up. Running at a full gallop, Bear can almost keep pace with the train, but he can’t maintain it for long, so everything comes down to Root’s timing. The engine levels with her first, and then slowly crawls past. The passenger cars are lit inside by lanterns, but the light they provide doesn’t reach far enough to reveal Shaw to the people inside, and the rattle of the wheels blocks any sound that Bear makes. One car passes, then two, then three.

_Hurry up, Root._

The locomotive slows, metal grinding against metal as the brakes engage. As its motion ceases completely, Shaw nudges Bear toward the nearest passenger car, hops out of the saddle, and quickly ascends the ladder and enters the car.

Guns drawn, held high, she speaks in a low voice that nonetheless carries to the passengers in the car, “Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt. We’re here for the goods in the back.” Shaw and her crew used to rob the passengers themselves, taking wallets and jewelry and the like. They’d since found, however, that people were much less inclined towards futile heroism if none of their belongings were at risk. And, as she expects, none of the passengers make a move. Fright and tiredness combine into a sort of lethargy that makes action difficult. The only people aboard who’d be liable to give her trouble are the guards assigned to the shipment; all the other official personnel will have been removed from action by Root, who will have seduced her way to the front of the train, and then systematically rendered them all unconscious, then stopped the train herself.

Right on time, a guardsman bursts through the door on the opposite side of the car, weapon drawn. Shaw levels both pistols at him. 

Just one guard? Hardly a challenge. Shaw can see him sweating, but his voice is even when he says, “Lower your weapons.”

“No thanks,” Shaw takes a step forward, then freezes when she feels cold metal against the back of her head.

Ah. Two guards after all.

Good.

She ducks her head to one side, and immediately throws herself backward. Her hands drop her own guns, and she reaches up to grab his arm, forcing it downward even as her head collides with his chin. The sudden impact jars him, and Shaw pulls the gun from his hand and presses it against his neck, forcing him around to stand between her and the other guard. She urges him forward with a jab of the gun.

“Drop it,” She tells the other guard, “Or this one gets it.” He reluctantly drops his weapon, and, at her look, kicks it away. “Now the keys. For the goods in the back.”

He pulls them from his jacket and holds them out towards Shaw, who shakes her head, “Give them to her,” She gestures with her chin.

The guardsman turns around, and hands the keys to Root, seated behind him, who’s been watching the scene play out with interest. She takes the keys with a quiet, “Thank you,” and heads to the back of the train.

Shaw, the two guards, and the rest of the passengers wait in silence.

Root returns with a bag slung over her shoulder, filled with items liberated from the goods car. “That everything?” Shaw asks.

“Yes,” Root replies, dropping the bag beside Shaw. “I’m just going to change before we leave.” She then proceeds to strip off her dress down to her underclothes, baring an outstanding amount of pale skin. Shaw could look away, but she doesn’t. The woman is just too damned attractive. And besides, she knows that the entire display is done solely for her benefit. Their first few months together had been filled with similar occurrences; Root’s bed in the hotel ‘happening’ to be unusable, her clothes in the summer simply being ‘too hot,’ her baths inexplicably always taking place with the door open, directly in Shaw’s line of vision. Eventually she’d just given up and pulled the woman into her bed and worked her over for an hour. Then she continued to do so every night since, having yet to find a reason not to. 

Root finds a passenger’s bag, and (silencing his protests with a look) digs through it until she finds a pair of pants and a loose-fitting shirt, which she then pulls on. She crumples up the dress and stuffs it in the bag, picks up Shaw’s two discarded pistols and drops them in as well, then slings the bag over her shoulder once again. Shaw lets the second guard go, but keeps his weapon, bending down to pick up the gun of the first guard. She slips both into the holsters at her hips.

They leave the car, climb down the ladder and back onto Bear, patiently waiting below. Root sits behind Shaw, one hand holding the bag, the other fixed firmly on Shaw’s waist.

In moments they disappear from view.

***

Stars light the sky overhead. Sparks from their small fire drift up, and then vanish.

Shaw lies on the ground under a thin blanket, Root tucked closely beside her. The cave just behind them is one of their caches they’ve left filled with imperishable food and other supplies, and which can double as a refuge when they need it. Root, however, prefers the open sky to the rock of the cave, and Shaw prefers Root to no Root, so they bundle together a short distance down from the cave’s entrance.

Root had discarded the bag and all its contents, dress included, save for a small pouch. 

“One day,” Shaw mutters, after opening the pouch and pouring the dozen or so small diamonds into her hand. “You’re going to tell me how you always know which shipment these are in.”

“Well,” Root says, smiling. “If I told you, you wouldn’t need me around anymore. And I’d prefer to stay with you.”

“So would I,” Shaw says. “So it doesn’t matter what you tell me.”

Root smiles wider. “Maybe next time.”

“Fine.” Shaw pulls Root closer, and closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue’s a bit anachronistic, I think. We’ll call it a stylistic decision, because I think that sounds better than ‘lack of talent.’ 
> 
> Thanks as always to folks who read my stuff!


	2. Oregon Trail

Trees whip past, while lakes and mountains seem to crawl, as if plagued by lethargy. The train rattles and jolts as it thunders down the track, and each shudder of movement reminds Shaw of the gun strapped to her leg beneath the skirts of her dress. The cold metal raises goosebumps across her skin, and no matter how she shifts some part of it bites painfully into flesh. The dress itself makes no reparations; the only ones they had were obviously fitted for Root. Too long, and too tight about the chest, the garment does not serve to improve Shaw’s mood.

Root has, even more than usual, been making veiled references to the ‘inequality’ of their work. A complaint bereft of any rational basis, given that the arrangement was one they’d both agreed to, but one no less frequently remarked on for it. So Shaw had agreed to switch roles this once, though not without a few concessions from Root.

The train isn’t one of the nicest they’ve held up; most people headed this far west are those seeking fortune rather than those that have already found it. They’re a mostly tired, ragged looking group. Unlikely any of them will raise a fuss when Root shows up; most of them would probably be amused by the idea of a robbery. What do they have left worth taking? Not that Shaw has any intention of trying to rob them. As always, she and Root are after the cargo the train is transporting. Nominally, the freight is primarily non-perishable food, but in her typical enigmatic way, Root had assured her that there were various valuables hidden amidst the regular supplies. 

The train car jerks again. Annoyed, Shaw looks out the window, trying to determine how much longer she’s going to have to deal with the convergence of vexation that is her dress and gun. The sun is setting, casting the passing lakes into orange fire. The landscape around them is covered in trees, a deep green backed by the faintly blue mountains in the distance. It’s beautiful country, regardless of whatever hangups Root has about it.

“Are you an immigrant?”

Shaw pulls her gaze away from the window to look at the young girl on the seat opposite her. This is another reason she prefers the gun-toting side of the partnership; less prying questions about her nationality. Besides, Shaw’s never liked kids, even when she was one. “No,” she says shortly.

“Oh,” the girl says, not appearing to be at all put off by Shaw’s brusqueness. “My cousin told me to stick with other immigrants, but I can’t find any.”

Shaw doesn’t respond, and the conversation lapses. The girl pulls a notebook from the pocket of her oversized jacket, and begins scribbling in it. What kind of cousin does she have who’d send her off by herself?

Outside, the sun is almost out of sight. Root will be here soon.

***

Frigid winds blow, broken somewhat by the trees that envelop the area. Oregon winter is on its way. A woman and a horse sit only a dozen yards from the railroad, but at this time of night, with the trees blocking the way, someone on board would be hard-pressed to see them, even if they were looking. Veronica sits without moving, staring into the deepening night. She’s been in the same position for several hours. She’s a woman of extremes; completely disconnected and passive until it’s time for her to spring into action. She’s not bored, and her thoughts don’t wander, they just sit quietly until it’s time for them to move.

Root, on the other hand, behind Veronica’s eyes, is bored out of her mind. She’d thought the character would be fun, but so far she’s just incredibly dull. When Shaw sits and broods it seems really intense and sexy, but experiencing it firsthand has just been an spectacular bore. It makes Root kind of sad. She spent ages taking bits of clothing from bags of train passengers, building her costume. She’d even sewed a lot of it herself; she’d done a lot of it growing up, and Shaw seems incapable of going one job without several new holes appearing in her clothes. Anyway, if nothing else, Veronica _looks_ the part. Long leather trousers over spurred boots, a belt around her waist bearing a plethora of firearms and ammunition, and even a wide-brimmed hat, Veronica is every tall-taled outlaw brought to life, albeit much more attractive.

Sinking into Veronica was supposed to help Root not think about where she is. Shaw keeps wanting to cover a wider area, to keep them from being recognized. It’s one of the stipulations that Root had to accept in order to create Veronica in the first place. She really doesn’t like being here. Root, that is. Veronica’s comfortable anywhere. 

For the first time in a while, Veronica stirs. She hears the train approaching, and mounts her house in preparation. Veronica is focused on the task ahead, and blessedly her thoughts block Root’s.

***

“You need to smile,”

Shaw momentarily stops trying to get the attention of the attendant at the front of their car, like Root always says she does, and looks over at the girl sitting across from her. “You an expert?”

The girl shrugs. “You’re kind of scary,” she flinches back a little at the expression on Shaw’s face. “Like that. You need to smile if you want him to like you.”

Shaw turns back to the man and gives her best alluring smile, and squeezes her arms together to give her breasts a bit of lift. This finally catches the man’s attention, and he smiles back at her. “Nice work, kid,” she says to the girl, looking back out the window. She lets the attendant try in vain to get her attention for a while, before standing up and moving to the front of the car.

“Evening, ma’am,” he says, inclining his head slightly, presumably to try and hide that his gaze is fixed on her chest. It doesn’t work. 

“I get sore sitting down for so long,” Shaw says, giving a overemphatic stretch of her arms and back. She’s decided not to be subtle. Root can pull off a demure and unassuming demeanor to an unsettling degree, but that’s not really Shaw’s style. “I’d love to get a tour of the train,” she puts one arm on the wall behind him, and leans forward. “Maybe see the engine.”

The man gulps audibly. “That’s off-limits, uh, ma’am, unfortunately. We do have private attendant’s quarters that I could show you if you’re so inclined.”

Though somewhat mollified that she can still rope someone in with just a few words and a look, it doesn’t get her any closer to the front of the train so she can stop it for Root to board. “Oh, hell,” she sighs, pulling the skirt of her dress up. The man’s eyes widen in shock, probably as much because of her bare legs as the gun she unstraps from one of them and points at him. “Just take me to the front.”

“Yes, uh, ma’am.”

Shaw puts the gun away by stuffing it down the front of her dress as they pass through the other cars, headed towards the engine. Passengers look up but don’t seem to notice the gun-shaped protuberance, or just don’t care enough to acknowledge it. They reach the last car before the tender, and Shaw gestures for the attendant to leave, which he does, quite hurriedly. She hauls open the door, and climbs up onto the tender, squinting her eyes against the air rushing past her now that she’s exposed to the elements. She steps through the piled coal, wondering how the hell Root always manages to keep her dresses spotless, and finally climbing up and dropping herself down in the cab.

Where the two train drivers stand, cowering before a man with a gun trained on them. He seems to be telling them to stop the train. He turns to look at Shaw as she drops down. She looks back at him.

A moment passes.

He raises his gun just as she launches herself at him.

***

The train isn’t slowing down. Veronica isn’t worried, since she’s incapable of being worried, but she is aware that she’ll need to improvise. Shaw must have encountered some difficulties onboard. Urging Bear faster, closer to the train that’s steadily pulling past them, Veronica shakily half stands, half crouches on the top of the saddle, and leaps across.

The impact knocks the breath out of her, but she clings on to the rail at the rear of one of the passenger cars, and pulls herself around to stand on the platform behind. Bear slows and quickly disappears from sight. He’ll be fine; he knows where to go. She pulls the door open.

Faces turn to Root as she walks through the passenger cars. A particularly attractive woman meets her eyes, and Root decides that Veronica also likes flirting with female passengers occasionally, because she ought to have _some_ fun, at least. She winks, and then continues on to the next car. Shouldn’t there be some guards somewhere for her to fight? Veronica is getting antsy.

The next car she steps into seems to have a bit of a commotion taking place. Near the front of the car, a man is struggling with a young girl, both of them shouting in a language neither Veronica nor Root recognize. No one else in the car moves to interfere, as the man pulls the girl towards the exit of the car. At this, Root inside Veronica sees red, and a moment later the man is on the floor, and the girl is dashing away.

“Excuse me, sir,” offers one of the passengers, an older man who looks like neither he nor his clothes have seen a wash in a long time. “I mean, ma’am,” he corrects as Veronica turns to him. “Are you a lawman? Those men,” he gestures at the one laying on the ground. “I think they’re tryin’ to hijack the train.”

“Don’t worry,” Veronica reassures him in an authoritative voice. “Everything’s under control.” 

She continues on through the train to search for Shaw. If these men are trying to hijack the train, they’ve probably got reinforcements outside waiting to board. Veronica draws a weapon in either hand. Excitement and anticipation course through both her and Root.

***

Shaw leaves the drivers of the train with explicit orders to keep the locomotive moving. Root won’t be able to board, but neither will the rest of the Russians who were presumably waiting for their comrade to stop the train. Shaw had found out the man was Russian when he’d used that language to swear at her before she knocked him unconscious. Without Root, she’ll have to pull off the rest of the heist herself, jump off the train before it gets to the station, and steer clear of any wandering Russians. She’ll have to rendezvous with Root later. They have a prearranged location to meet if anything goes wrong. As she steps back through the coal-filled tender, accumulating even more filth on her now-ruined dress, she finds the girl from earlier crouched down in the coal. “Hey,” she says. “Get back inside. It’s not safe out here.”

“Not safe in there either.”

Shaw ducks as several shots come from the first passenger car. Drawing her own weapon again, head below the rim of the tender, she looks over to the girl. “You have any idea what they’re after?” The girl just looks at her with wide eyes. “Fine,” Shaw says. “Don’t tell me.” She’s pretty sure it’s not a coincidence that a Russian girl is running from Russian train hijackers, but she doesn’t have the time to sort the whole thing out at the moment. She leans up over the edge of the tender and fires a few shots, most of which find their marks. The sun’s gone by now, but the moon and stars cast enough light down to guide her shots. The men retreat back into the train cars, hands clamped over bleeding wounds. Shaw climbs out of the coal, onto the platform that leads into the first passenger car. There’s a ladder that runs up to the roof. “Come on, kid. Hurry,” Shaw says, gesturing towards the girl to follow. She remains in the pile of coal. “Look,” Shaw sighs. “I don’t really trust anyone either. But right now you’re stuck with either me or them.”

Cold winds blast their faces on the roof of the train. Shaw’s coal-smeared dress flaps out behind her uncontrollably. She leads the girl quickly across the tops of the cars, leaping across the gaps between them. The girl handles the situation surprisingly well, and it occurs to Shaw suddenly that she doesn’t know the girl’s name.

“Gen,” she says when Shaw asks. “Where are we going?”

They reach the third-to-last car, and Shaw reaches down to haul back the sliding roof panel, the moonlight revealing indistinct shapes of cargo stored in the space below. She jumps down first, landing with a slight crunch on a box that hopefully doesn’t contain anything too vital, then reaches up to help Gen down. 

“Do you think they’ll find us in here?” Gen asks, as Shaw navigates carefully around the piled cargo, struggling to identify anything in the dim light. It won’t take too long for the men she’d shot to search the rest of the train; she needs to get the goods and get out of here.

What to do with the girl, though? She’s not about to jump off the train with a kid in tow; besides the obvious problem of saddling herself with the girl semi-permanently, the Russians probably have reinforcements along the track that would catch them fairly quickly. If she leaves by herself, though, the men onboard will probably find Gen. So she needs to take out the remaining ones, _then_ unboard the train by herself before they get into town and she gets arrested for attempted hijacking. It’s been a while since she and Root have needed to run a jailbreak, and she’d prefer to keep it that way.

First she has to actually find the damned goods, though. Thus far her search through stacked crates has revealed only cans of food.

She hears faint gunshots from further up the train. Looks like the cargo will have to wait. With Gen tucked hopefully safely behind a few crates, Shaw opens the door, closes it behind her, and steps across the gap to the next car.

And promptly throws herself to the ground when two men bearing guns whip around and fire at her from the front of the car. Moments after she hits the floor, the two men collapse. Climbing to her feet and tucking her still-smoking gun back into her dress, she moves through the car amidst the cowering passengers and relieves the two bodies of their weapons. 

The door opens and Shaw brings her new guns up to point at the tall figure who steps through, bearing two guns of her own. For a minute, all Shaw sees is the character Root had slipped into. Then the mask drops, along with her guns, and Root smiles at her. Shaw’s always found it unsettling how the woman does that; she’d never admit it, but she finds Root’s presence comforting. The disguises Root almost seems to become are the opposite. 

Shaw puts her own gun down as well. “How’d you get here?”

“You didn’t make it easy for me, Sameen,” Root says. “I thought we’d moved past the playing hard to get stuff.”

“Things came up,” Shaw says shortly. 

“Must have. I’ve been looking all over for you. So did you change your mind about having kids?”

“What?” Shaw looks around to see that Gen had not stayed in her hiding spot and was tagging along behind. “What the hell are you doing?”

Gen doesn’t answer but doesn’t seem to be inclined to go back to the cargo hold. 

“Things are about to get busy in here, sweetie,” Root says. “There’s more on the way, apparently. At least, that’s what the guy I was holding off the side of the train told me.”

“I took out the guy they sent to stop the train, so the rest of them should be out of luck.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure,” Root says, exiting the car, moving further up the train. Shaw, with Gen a few steps behind, follows. “I still made it on.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.”

Root smiles. “That’s so sweet, Sameen. But,” She says as they move through one car and open the door at the other end, passengers watching them somewhat warily. “I think we should probably get ready for a shootout. Also,” she adds in an undertone as she opens the door. “The fine passengers on this train think I’m a lawman stopping a train hijacking. You can be my undercover partner if you want.”

They’re midway through the next car when bullets shatter the windows and force them to the ground, Shaw grabbing Gen and dragging her down as well.

“Everyone stay calm,” Root says in her best commanding voice, which is mostly her impression of Shaw’s own voice. The passengers, crouched down under seats, look like they wish they’d chosen a train less disaster-prone than this one. “We’re the law,” Root continues, standing, drawing two guns and pointing one out to either side of the car. “Everything’s under control.” She fires both weapons out the wrecked windows.

Gen’s looking at Root with her mouth open. Shaw rolls her eyes. Root adores dramatics, and seems largely incapable of detecting when they’re not appropriate.

“Those men were on horses,” Root remarks, looking out one of the windows, even though whoever was out there is long gone by now. “They might have more stationed along the track.”

“We’re getting close to town now,” Shaw says, and Root gives her a look. They’re running out of time to get off the train before it gets to the station. Right now the passengers seem to be accepting of Root’s imaginary law-derived authority, but there’s no telling how long that will last. “You can go, if you want,” she tells Root. “I’ll meet at the spot later.”

Root shakes her head. “This is a two-woman job, Sameen.”

***

Root takes the front of the train, while Shaw handles the rear, the girl Gen sticking alongside her. Shaw doesn’t seem to mind, which Root thinks is adorable.

She sees what might be a Russian on a horse and fires off a few shots into the night. She sits on the edge of the tender, enjoying the cold air. 

She’d dispensed with Veronica, and now she’s just Root. Veronica doesn’t know how to have fun, and anyway, Shaw likes Root better. Which speaks to an impeccable judgment of character, in Root’s opinion.

Another movement in the darkness. Root raises her gun, and is bowled over into the tender from something large coming from behind her. The man, having just leapt from his horse onto the train, tries to hold Root down amidst the piled coal. One of her legs kicks up, and the man’s hold loosens enough for her to spin around, a jab to his throat and subsequent elbow to the head removing him as a threat. She searches through his pockets and pulls out his wallet, emptying it of all the American cash it contains, and adding it to her spoils from all others she and Shaw had downed in the train. They hadn’t really had a chance to lift their target cargo, but at least they won’t go home entirely empty-handed.

Root resumes her post. They should be pulling in to the station soon.

***

“I’ve been thinking,” Root remarks. “We should do more jobs like this.”

“Rescuing kids and fighting Russians? No thanks,” Shaw glances over at Root, laying beside her on the bed. Candles set on tables beside the bed provide soft light for the room they’d rented, in an inn just beside the station. Since they hadn’t actually lifted any of the cargo, and most attention seemed to be focused on the various Russian would-be hijackers on the train, Root and Shaw had been able to slip away from the station without anyone making a fuss. From their vantage, they’d been able to ensure that Gen had safely reached the care of her guardian, who would presumably thereafter assume the responsibility of defending her from hordes of Russians. 

No one even seemed to be interested in searching for Root and Shaw, and even if they were, they probably wouldn’t think to look for train robbers in an inn right beside the train they’d attempted to rob.

“No, Sameen,” Root reproves, swatting Shaw lightly on the arm. “Posing as rescuers. We stage a hijacking, we stop it, lift the stuff in between when no one’s looking and we walk onto the station at the end like heroes.”

“Maybe,” Shaw concedes. “I’d prefer to stay out of the papers. Anyway,” she adds. “I bought us tickets home tomorrow. I know you don’t like it here.”

Root rolls on top of Shaw and kisses her. She’d taken off her cowboy getup, and had neglected to put anything else on over her underclothes, presumably for the purpose of making it impossible for Shaw to focus. It is effective.

***

“So much for staying out of the papers.”

Shaw takes her eyes off the Oregon landscape rolling steadily away from them, and glances over to Root, sitting beside her slightly closer than propriety dictates. The morning edition of the paper she’s holding bears a headline reading Mysterious Duo Halts Train Hijacking, Rescues Young Girl From Would-Be Captors! Interview With Eyewitnesses On Page 23. “Nice picture of you,” Shaw remarks, glancing at the artist’s fanciful rendering of the scene. Root appears to have been depicted as man. She looks at it curiously.

“You’re just jealous, Sameen.”

“Of you?” Shaw snorts. Grudgingly, she adds, “Can I borrow those boots next time?”

“Of course, sweetie.” Root lays her head on Shaw’s shoulder, sparking a disapproving look from a woman in the seat opposite them. The look is quickly averted as Shaw’s eyes shoot venom at her. “Wake me up when we get home,” Root mumbles sleepily.

The wheels beneath them hit a bump and the locomotive rattles. Outside the windows, Oregon slowly pulls itself away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, here’s another chapter to this story. Thanks to everyone who reads and/or leaves kudos or comments!


End file.
